


paint my spirit gold

by tsunderestorm



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Sealshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6672157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mahad never stops waiting for Atem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	paint my spirit gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [necrotype](https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrotype/gifts).



> for a tumblr prompt request - " _"things you said that made me feel real_ "

He barely remembers what it felt like to be a person. He's long-since forgotten the heat of sun-warmed stone beneath the soles of his sandals and the ripple of the Nile over his bare feet, the weight of magic beaten gold resting on his chest and a lover's touch on flushed skin.

These things are lost to the sands of time, stolen by each passing millennium. Long ago, he had a title, a position, a purpose. He thinks he might have had friends, two of them. He thinks he might have even had a name, once; something murmured by someone once dear to him, something that sounded just as sweet no matter if it was a chastisement, an endearment, a caution. Now, he has only a title, a two-word epithet used only in the heat of battle. He is a tool, a shell surrounding the remnants of a soul, pure power coiled in wait until it's called.

At least, that's what he thought over those three millennia.

Over the course of his pharaoh's duels, something happens. Something inside of him stirs, something he thought was long gone. It's like the tingling of limbs after too long a time spent sitting still, like long ago when he was human he felt the first swell of power rising up and seeping into his bones.

 _Because I have the Dark Magician_ , the pharaoh declares, and he feels a surge of **something**. Maybe it's power, maybe it's pride, maybe it's the far-off forgotten fairy tale known as love. When the pharaoh speaks, he feels _real_ again, not quite human but something close.

 _Because I have him. Because he believes in me._ These things echo in the magician's mind and beat against the inside of his skull like a war drum.

Somewhere along the line, he remembers his name; remembers the way that Mana called him _Master Mahad,_ remembers the way his peers had addressed him as _Priest_ , the way they'd looked to him for guidance, the way they'd sent him after the pharaoh when he was in one of his moods.

Above all, he recalls the way that his pharaoh's lips had curled around his name with no formalities or pretense, the way he'd beckoned him shamelessly into lavish chambers and down into opulent comfort. The way he'd murmured _Mahad_ like a prayer to a god and silenced his protests with a warm, wine-rich kiss.

\--

“Hello, Atem,” Mahad says as the door closes behind his king, closing him off from the world he revisited and sealing him firmly in the afterlife.

“Mahad,” Atem greets him with a wink. “My most trusted servant, my most powerful partner...my oldest friend.”

Mahad flushes as he feels Set's jealous gaze settle on him. Fighting to keep his voice level, his head clear, he says simply: “You called me in your last battle.”

Atem nods. “I never would have dreamed of asking for help from anyone else for the most important duel of my life.”

“Thank you,” Mahad says with a bow, falling to one knee. He's glad for Atem's limited vantage point, glad that he can't see the tears brim unwelcome to his eyes, glad that he isn't forced to present his pharaoh with such a shameful display. “I'm honored to have been of use to you.”

Atem's hand is soft on his hair as he brushes a strand back from his temple, soft on the arch of his cheek, the plane of his jaw as he bids him to rise. “No more of this,” he says, thumbing over the downturn of Mahad's lips before cradling his cheek as he kneels down in front of him. “I'm not a pharaoh any longer. I'm not King of Games. I'm simply...Atem. Speak to me plainly.”

Slowly, Mahad nods, leaning ever so slightly into Atem's touch and thanking the gods that he was allowed to be with him again. “Because of you, I was able to feel real.”

 


End file.
